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Martia’s eyebrow lifts. “Says the guy whose job is cleaning up.”
“I am theseneschalof the general. My job is to see to his household and its affairs, not to scrub blood and cerebral matter from the floors. Not to mention, the disposal of the bodies?—”
“Quiet,” I say, which has Martia letting out a silent giggle and Bastian’s already-thin lips becoming invisible.
“Yes, feel free to keep the newly mated routine for your alone time,” Ivar adds. “Back to the matter at hand.”
“Which is only amatterbecause you won’t let me kill people,” I point out darkly.
“You are no longer a low-ranking engineer, Gabriel. The general of the military reports to the council, and his behavior must be beyond reproach. Which, I would like to remind you, is agoodthing. Chaos and opacity would create room for dictatorship, which is exactly what nobles like Lord Larsen want. You said it yourself that as general you would protect systems of checks and balances that?—”
“I’ve changed my fucking mind.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“And yet, I am going to fucking kill Lord Larsen, and you can’t stop me.” I shrug, and Ivar sighs.
“If you strike now, without proof, you will be perceived as an unstable and volatile general. Killing more people is not going to solve anything.”
I scoff. “Killing people is always going to solvesomething.”
“Said like a fucking Alpha. Societal mores are important?—”
“Said like a fucking Omega.”
We exchange small amused smiles, almost against our will. “Gabriel, if you retaliate outside the law?—”
“Then find me a legal way. Work your fucking magic. Advise me. Do your fucking job.”
“I have been. I’ve been considering strategically sound plans that won’t lead to the council censuring you and won’t alienate the public. But none of them are surefire, and you’re not going to like the one with the quickest time frame?—”
“Do you think Iliketwiddling my thumbs while some piece of shit who’s never even touched a poly-welder kills my people? Out with it.”
My brother winces, clearly already regretting what he mentioned. But after a pained glance at the others, he uses the heel of his hand to clean a few bloody droplets from the holographic console at the center of the table. As the machine whirs to life, he asks, “Did you know that Lennart Larsen’s mating ceremony is taking place in two days?”
I did not, but I still nod. “We strike while they’re all gathered to celebrate and wipe out the whole House. Great idea.”
“For fuck’s sake—no.” Ivar massages his forehead. “Do you even know who Lennart is?”
“You know I don’t make room for that shit.” It’s not wholly true. I remember the names and faces of every person I’ve served with since the day I lied about my age and joined the engineering corps. But that was before my balls even dropped, which gave me little time to spend on anything that wasn’t learning how to repair the water-filtering systems—and to fend off a semiaquatic reptile three times my sizewhileI did that. Being a soldier means cutting through problems with my sword. Weighing options, spinning webs, keeping track of family trees and contingencies and liabilities—that’s Ivar’s duty.
“Lennart is the third son of Lord and Lady Larsen.” He fusses with the controls and pulls up the holo projection of a young smiling man who is probably around my age but looks considerably younger. Light-brown hair. Sloped jaw. A curl falls on his wide forehead. “Fourth child overall.”
“Good-looking,” Bastian comments, which has Martia glaring at him—undoubtedly the desired outcome.
“He’s not the heir, is he?” I ask.
“No,” Ivar says. “Not even the spare. Lennart is a Beta.”
“I didn’t know the Larsens came in non-Alpha,” muses Bastian.
Martia snorts. “Moment of silence for what it must have been like, growing up in that House as a Beta.”
“Yeah.” Ivar shrugs. “Well, I doubt his father ever paid much attention to him, but I hear he’s a mama’s boy.”
“And all this matters because…?” I ask, growing impatient.
“Because in times such as ours, everything matters.” Ivar’s hand wraps around my shoulder. “The wise see opportunity in the ordinary.”
